Complicated
by Flying Penguinz
Summary: ::Takes place during Midnight Alley:: Claire and Myrnin work side by side for a while before Myrnin loses it. Myrnin gives Claire a journal of Amelie's recordings and Claire comes to realize just how confusing he is.
1. Fraternization With Beasts

**Takes place sometime during **_**Midnight Alley**_**.**

* * *

Claire walked down the steps to Myrnin's lab and found him bent over a microscope, the harsh glow of an incandescent bulb outlining his figure. Today he wore a black vest over a white button-up shirt and pinstriped dress pants. She froze on the bottom step of the staircase.

This wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to be out. He should have been in the—

"The cage is gone," Myrnin said bitterly, as if he could read her thoughts. "Since the creation of the new drugs, I seem to have proven to Amelie that I could control myself well enough without the encouragement of that useless iron container."

That made her sound cruel—as if Claire were some kind of heartless jailer. She didn't want him in that thing anymore than he did.

"I know you're getting better," she said. "But—"

Myrnin turned around on his heel and Claire stopped. His glare was full of cold anger.

"But what? What_, girl? _I have been confined nearly all my existence, be it in a cell or under the complete control of others. I think it is about time I stretch my legs, no?" He turned back around and flicked off the old microscope's illuminator. Myrnin pulled the slide off the stage and set it on the table.

"I'm—sorry. I didn't know." But somewhere deep in her brain, Claire had.

"Of course you did," he said with disdain. Claire's eyes widened. _Could_ he read her mind? "You're a clever child, I'm sure you would have figured it out by now that _no_ _one_ likes me. Not even Amelie. Amelie only… _puts up with me_—if you could even call it that," he sneered.

It took him a moment for him to calm his temper while Claire remained silent. Soon, he said stiffly, "Very well, on with your lesson." When she didn't move, he snapped, "Get _over_ here and _learn_ so that I may no longer carry the burden of historian!"

And so they worked, two scientists, teacher and student. But it was not long until Myrnin began his ravings.

He was sitting in his armchair while Claire sat on the floor, looking up at him as he recalled his experiences prior to meeting Claire. He taught her the ingredients of chemicals invented by him that were nothing like anything else. Some included vampire blood and things only alchemical creations called for, like a child's tears and dried rose thorns.

But he got distracted a _lot_.

"Amelie told me this imaginary tale when we first met," Myrnin said, going off on yet another tangent. "She was very lovely in the beginning, you know. But time and hardship has frozen her heart and made her sad, as it would anyone—but no one more than Amelie." The past seemed to bring back memories Myrnin didn't want to entertain, because he snapped himself back into the present and started his story.

"There was good and there was bad," he began. "Two forces who had nothing to do but fight for control." Claire was taking notes, as he'd told her to do an hour or so ago, and was scribbling on her notepad furiously as he began talking faster. "Good was losing—as it always does—and became desperate. And so, in that desperation, it began cutting itself into parts and those parts became creatures. These creatures Amelie told me were angels that were sent to a place like earth to war. However, since I do not believe in such things, I suppose it would be appropriate to call them the _Fulgens—_or _the Shining_. Soon enough bad copied good and made its own minions that Amelie called _Bestias_, meaning _Beasts_.

"Eventually, the two had mingled for far too long together in the same realm of existence and, out of that togetherness, created what was then and still is now, _hominem_, which you would know means _man. _Humankind was half good, half bad—unlike the _lamia, _which came next.

"The _lamia_ were vampires, forming because of the continued fraternization between the _hominem_ and the B_estia_. Thus, their core was filled with more dark than light. The _lamia_ were…. The _lamia_…" he trailed off, sounding as if he had forgotten what came next.

Myrnin's long pause made Claire look up from her notes and see a faraway look in his eyes.

When the silence between them became extremely uncomfortable—for her at least—, Claire asked, "Myrnin?"

"_Ita fessis,_ _filiole_. _Deponere mihi caput erit benedictio._" In his tone was a depressing note that reminded Claire of bittersweet chocolate—the same as the regular kind, but an entirely different flavor. He was like that now, as anyone else, but made bitter by memories from time that had bereaved him of his happiness and humanity.

She knew what was happening; she knew she should have called someone to help her with Myrnin right then—Sam, or someone who could help talk him out of it. But something so sad and so lonely in his voice caused her morale to falter.

"What?" she asked. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," he snapped, becoming the monster within. "Mind your own business."

"But—"

He sighed. "Really, child? You wish to argue with _me?_" That momentary look of longing in the back of his eyes disappeared and they flashed red. "Do you think you stand a chance against me, the most capable of killing in this _rotten_ town?"

"Rotten? You think so?" spoke a voice that was definitely not Claire's. It was prim and proper, yet weary and doleful, and something in it was undoubtedly menacing.

Claire scrambled up and turned her back to Myrnin which was not the smartest of ideas. The maniacal vampire grabbed Claire around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. He wrapped his other arm around her throat. Claire tried to lash out, but she couldn't move at all.


	2. The Many Headed Monster

Amelie stepped around a pile of books and into the light emanating from the old lamp next to Myrnin's chair.

Claire stopped her futile squirming in Myrnin's unyielding grasp when she saw it was the Founder.

"Let her go, Myrnin," Amelie said firmly.

He glared. "Why? I _told_ you I wanted no more apprentices, did I not?"

"Yes, you did. But what you want no longer matters. Myrnin, with the disease pushing you so close to the edge, we have no choice but to have you train another."

"And what will it be after her?" he hissed. "Another? And after that one, will you send more? But how many of your subjects will you be sentencing to death? _When _will you _learn_ that I will not have them! All they are—all _she_ is—" he tightened his grip on Claire's throat and made her cry out to make his point "—to me is an extra helping of blood, Amelie. That is all they have ever been."

"Very well," she said, which sounded ominous to Claire. "You have brought this upon yourself, my friend."

Amelie's eyes flashed silver and Claire felt a wave of power crash into her and Myrnin. The room was filled with a low humming sound and in a few seconds, Myrnin's tight grip on her slackened and she fell onto the floor at the foot of his chair. Claire stood up quickly and ran behind Amelie, gasping for air.

Myrnin's head was hung and his hair veiled his face from view.

"You will tutor her and teach her everything you know, do I make myself clear?"

"The task is impossible—a fool's errand," he said, his voice came out as if it labored him to speak. "One so young with such a small thinking capacity will never understand everything I do, nor should she bear the burden of such knowledge." But Claire saw it as a challenge. To know everything this man—no, _vampire_—did would be incredible, despite the constant danger she would be in.

"I want to help," Claire said. The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. She addressed Myrnin. "I can do it."

"That is not the question," Myrnin snapped. "It is if _I_ am the one capable."

"No," corrected Amelie harshly. "There is no question. You'll school the girl, it is final." She sighed deeply and then said, as if in warning, "You've always played the fool, Myrnin." She dismissed herself then. "Good day."

Amelie walked behind the stack of books she had appeared from. Claire felt a flash of something in the room and then it was gone. She ran over to ask Amelie why she had been chosen, even _with_ her outstanding performance in TPU—but, of all the people, why her? Only Amelie had vanished into thin air and Myrnin was chuckling darkly from where he had remained seated throughout the whole encounter.

Claire turned around and watched Myrnin closely.

"She judges too quickly," Myrnin said with a manic smirk. "Her biggest fault is believing that I have more of a conscience than I really do." There was a moment of silence between student and teacher as the small trace of madness disappeared before Myrnin said tiredly, "Take me to my cage. I'll need it after Amelie's influence wears off."

"I thought you said—"

"The cage is not gone. Its greedy form awaits my insane self in the other room. Take me to it."

There were many rooms in the back of Myrnin's lab, Claire found. A curtain blocked off an old hallway that had doors on either side. The walls and ceiling were cement and made the walk cold and infelicitous.

After passing other rooms, they reached the one Myrnin wanted that had no door. They went inside and Claire saw the cage sitting near the far wall with all of his personal belongings still inside. The door of it was open, looking ready for Myrnin to walk in.

The thing personified a rabid animal that would only be content if it swallowed Myrnin whole. Myrnin stared at the cage, as if sizing it up, and then stoically walked over to it, stroked one of its bars in a confusing kind of reverence, and stepped inside.

It made Claire sad.

"Myrnin, wait—"

"Nobility has never been my strong suit, Claire, allow me this once to be your dream instead of your nightmare." He closed the door and it locked on itself. It broke Claire's heart to see him do such a thing on his own accord, but it was for his own good.

Once imprisoned, it seemed he finally allowed himself to fall apart. Before he completely left Claire, however, he handed her a journal from a stack of books in the corner of the cage. "Take this," he said, handing it to her from between the bars. "Read it. I want you to know who I really am." And then Myrnin retreated to the back of the cage and sat down on the small bed within.

The little book was made of leather and on the front were words written in a hand that was not Myrnin's. His was spidery and thin, yet surprisingly beautiful. These words appeared very delicate and letters flowed together softly, reminding Claire of wisps of smoke.

_16 Août, 1549  
"L'Année du Monstre à Plusieurs Têtes"_

"Italian?" Claire asked.

"French," Myrnin corrected.

"How am I supposed to—?"

"Open it," he said wearily.

Claire did as she was told and found that English words covered the pages instead of the French ones Claire expected to be there.

"_La Lingua Pura_," Myrnin said. "_The Pure Language._ Please—read it."

Claire flipped to the first page and—

"Not here. You may return to the laboratory, but the book must not leave this place. Make haste, child. I'm nearly gone. _Destituo._"

Claire nodded and backed out of the room. She ran down the hall, threw aside the curtain, and sat down in Myrnin's armchair.

She opened the journal to the first page and the same fluid handwriting marked the date that was on the cover: _16 August, 1549._

_I suppose I am too old to be writing another journal, but it is a habit I have grown up with and one I am not too keen on getting rid of easily. Perhaps these recordings of my life will one day be useful to me or to a historian in the distant future—but for now, I write._

…

The date marks mid-August in the year of 1549—known as "The Year of the Many-Headed Monster" because of the unusually high number of rebellions that have occurred in the country thus far. Edward VI is King and holds a fairly reasonable rule, though, as always, corruption courses through England's veins and blackens its heart. Edward does not live up to his title as Lord Protector of England, for each battle he wages becomes more violent and costly. If Bishop were here, he'd rave about the circumstances brought upon the land by undeserving rulers and how the ability to be king did not run in noble blood, but in brains.

I continue my humble act as the castle librarian as I work alongside the historian, Roget (another vampire, though no one but I know). I am considered a kind young woman here, desperate in my pursuit for simplicity. The lifestyle is not as fanciful as other roles I have played, but I am content in such simple living.

Today the court physician came into the library, claiming to have a new apprentice. His name was strange. Maryn or something near to it.

I suppose I should make a point of visiting him tomorrow.

_-Amelie_

…

The next day, Amelie and the court physician walked to his chambers which were on the other side of the castle from the library.

"Yet another apprentice?" Amelie asked. "Have you not gone through two in just the past year, Moussaieff?"

Moussaieff nodded, not sorry at all for his losses. "The tempo at which I taught was too fast for their offbeat minds to play at."

Amelie raised a brow and looked at him. "And you believe this one is different?"

He nodded again with a smile. "He is quite brilliant, Amelie. He is a blossoming flower in a field of dying ones, withering and caving in on themselves; a torch just lit while others around it burn out; and a planet among stars. And as I have said before, you would have been a remarkable student; your refusal offended me—I could have taught you well! Do not speak, it is in the past and I respect your decision. Anyway, I believe you and he will get along well," Moussaieff said as they reached his chambers. He opened the shabby wooden door and revealed a room full of glass containers of ingredients and little jars of potions. Where there weren't vials of liquids, there were bits of parchment and, most of all, books. Books were overflowing cabinets and piled around the edge of the room with twenty or thirty in a stack, books were in the sills of windows and taking up nearly half the floor space. Amelie had been in here before, but it had never been _this_ chaotic. Perhaps the new apprentice was just as unclean and disorganized as Moussaieff.

And then she spotted him.

A vampire was standing at the table in the middle of the room, bent over and poring through a volume. He must have sensed Amelie's presence, because his head snapped up and his dark brown eyes met her light gray ones. His brows furrowed then quickly went on their way as he regained his composure and beamed at the two.

He was a boy. Well, a man, really, but his countenance was much closer to that of a child's. He had long brown wavy hair, a sharp face, thick eyebrows, and a long nose. He wore the apparel of a servant, but there seemed to be no obvious color scheme because of the red, blue, black, and green articles of clothing he wore so carelessly.

"Myrnin, Amelie has come to visit," Moussaieff said, picking up a shoulder bag off the floor and putting it on the table next to Myrnin's book.

"So she has," Myrnin said. "Good afternoon, madam. Moussaieff has told me of your charm." He bowed deeply and winked at Amelie. She had trouble refraining from rolling her eyes.

…

_3 November, 1549_

Moussaieff was correct in saying that Myrnin and I would become friends. And even though I am nearly half a century further into my immortal existence than he, he seems to be the older brother I never had.

Though I was hesitant to confide anything in him at first, he is very genteel and chivalrous. And he is clever. Remarkably so. He catches onto things with the most irritating ease, so it was not long before he realized who I was. I sometimes wonder if he knew the very first day he met me, but I have no way of knowing for sure.

-_Amelie_

…

That evening they sat alone in the library at a table next to a giant window that overlooked a field. The silence was broken by the sound of them turning pages in books as they quietly read together.

"Are you the Amelie that overthrew Bishop?" Myrnin asked suddenly. He set down his book entitled _Llyfr Coch Hergest _full of Welsh poetry and fairytales. Perhaps it was the enticement of actual lore that he saw in Amelie—to discover the secret of an incognito princess who cleverly upended her father's rule—that caused him to investigate. Or maybe it was all in jest. But there was no questioning it—Myrnin of Conwy was very tenacious about knowing more and would be insatiable until he got the full story.

Amelie's eyes stopped on the word she was on. It would be dangerous for such a man—for anyone, really—to know who she truly was. She knew she should have changed her name when she'd first come here, but it was too late for anything like that now. And a name was a thing that was difficult to easily alter. Amelie tried to regain her composure, but being around humans so often now and not having to constantly support the wall she'd built around her was making her soft and inept at hiding her thoughts and emotions.

Amelie looked up at him with what she hoped was a blank expression. "You mistake me for someone else," she said, returning her attention to her book, hoping the gesture looked idle and uncaring.

"I mistake you for no one," he said confidently. "You _are_ her, are you not? Your accent is clearly French, and you look just like how they describe you over there. They say, 'Her eyes sparkle like two bright stars, but there is neither rest nor calmness in them. Her hair is made of silken threads of water and smells of roses. She walks like one glides—'"

"You flatter me, Myrnin, but if I were your Amelie, would I not be in France at this very moment? Ruling over the land my father once commanded and correcting the abuses brought to them by Bishop? I am not, so I am not her."

"You know just as well as I that Amelie is not in France. She sits before me, reading _Tales of Olde._" He halted his attack and straightened in his seat. "I have no one to tell your secret to, Amelie. I understand you want to leave that part of you in the past, and I am deeply sorry for bringing it up." Myrnin stood and bowed politely. "Good day, Amelie, starlit eyes and silken hair, graceful as a dove. With all my heart, I yearn for friends, but nothing close to love—"

…

"Good afternoon."

Claire jumped and snapped the book shut. Amelie was standing right in front of Claire's armchair, looking at her curiously.


	3. The Deadly Animal

_How long had she been watching her? _

"I did not mean to startle you, Claire, but why are you reading my journal?" Amelie asked reasonably.

"Myrnin… Myrnin said that he wanted me to know who he really was," Claire said quietly, afraid Amelie might get mad.

"Ah," Amelie said. "Then that is in the tenth entry." She held out her perfect hand and motioned for Claire to hand her the book. When she had it, she flipped through the daybook, looking for the correct page.

When Claire saw that Amelie was not upset that Claire had gone through her personal journal, she wondered. "'But nothing close to love?'"

"Pardon?" Amelie asked while searching for the entry.

"He says 'But nothing close to love' when he says good-bye to you," Claire recalled. "What did he mean by it?"

Amelie said, without looking up, "I first saw him as an inconsiderate man who stole the hearts of women for fun. He knew that if that was what I thought him to be, I would lose all of my respect for him. That was to reassure me that he wanted to have my friendship and nothing more."

Amelie suddenly stopped her searching in the book and began to read her story to Claire.

_…_

_12 December, 1550_

It has been more than a year since the last time I wrote in this book. Perhaps it is for the better. So much has happened since then. Thomas Seymour was next in line for governorship of King Edward (his dearly beloved elder brother), but was accused of high treason by the Queen herself. There was absolutely no evidence against him but the King's wife's word and Thomas Seymour was consequently beheaded. A rebellion broke out within the confines of the castle when one of the Queen's servants attempted to take Her Royal Highness's life and Myrnin and I saw it was necessary for us to escape the tension found in the Kingdom of England. Now we rest at an inn just next to the ocean in Belgium, only a dozen miles away from my home country, France.

Within the past year, I have learned much about my friend Myrnin. He had a father who was his old town's madman. Sometimes, I can see it in him, the hereditary brain disease that makes him frank and predatory. I often wonder if it will grow, like mold on old cheese, consuming Myrnin and eventually leaving him to rot. But I never ask. Myrnin speaks of his father and his condition with such bitterness, I believe it best not to bring up the matter myself.

But yesterday, as we traveled to the cities of Belgium once night had fallen, his vampirism and demented side showed themselves to me simultaneously as we hunted. It was a combination of things that should never have mixed, and it frightened me. Bishop was my begetter, the one who ruled with an iron hand and was even worse as a father. I had experienced years of hell with him—I did not believe anything would terrify me as Bishop did. But nothing scared me worse than when Myrnin lost all humanity and waged war against a helpless people. And I was incapacitated against the cold, unwelcome knowledge that my friend was in league with the Devil.

-_Amelie_

_…_

"He cleared out a whole village," Amelie said, lowering the journal and looking at Claire. "All of them died by his hands. Some he didn't even drink from; he just snapped their necks and moved on."

Claire blinked and then realized she had tears in her eyes. "I had n—"

"Hush," Amelie said suddenly, cocking her head to the side. "Do you hear that?"

"Wh—?"

She gestured for Claire to be quiet.

There was the sound of movement and suddenly Myrnin was standing in the lab with a gleam in his eyes. His stance was animalistic, ready to pounce at any moment.

His voice had the feel of a hand running across a velvet dress and Claire could see Myrnin's threads unraveling before her eyes. "Are you glad you know, little one? Are you now aware of what I could _do_ to your frail little body with a flick of my wrist? _Ego sum mortiferum._"

"Claire, fetch me his drugs," Amelie said calmly.

Claire nodded slowly and moved to a cabinet that contained vials of Myrnin's medicine, took one out, and handed it to Amelie without making any sudden movements that would snap Myrnin out of his stalking mode and into his pouncing one.


	4. Maddening Sentiments

"Myrnin, I want you to take this. Please," Amelie said, holding up the little container of drugs and using a voice that one would use on someone very old and sick.

"No," he said angrily.

"You have no decision in the matter, Myrnin. _Take it_. Before I have no choice but to force you."

"I haven't a decision in _anything_. All I am to you is someone to make your machines." He sounded like a child: straight to the point, and fed up with rules.

"You know that isn't true," Amelie said slowly. "You're my oldest and dearest friend."

"I have no friends. I have only myself. Only me. I'm all I've ever been able to rely on." Suddenly, the ticking bomb that was Myrnin exploded and he screamed. It was a noise full of loneliness and self-loathing and disappointment. He didn't jump onto Claire as she thought he would. Instead, he fell to his knees with tears in his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself. "_Fessi. Ita defessus_," he whimpered. Tears slipped down his face and onto the floor as he added, "_And lonely_."

Claire looked to Amelie for guidance as to what to do and saw a wounded look on her face. Like what someone looks like when they come across a homeless puppy they can't afford to take care of on the street. But worse. Helpless was what it seemed to be. Amelie looked helpless, and it was killing her to be.

Amelie turned to Claire. "Leave us," she said. "Go to the back rooms."

Claire nodded and walked behind the curtain quickly and into the room that was Myrnin's prison. She stopped once she saw the state the iron cell was in.

The bars had been twisted away from the lock and kicked open, but the result of it looked more like it was the doing of a small bomb rather than the impact of a foot.

Claire walked further into the room and stared at it, wondering what it was like to be Myrnin. She stepped into the cell and instantly knew the dehumanizing effect it would have on anyone who was shut in here for prolonged periods of time, especially for someone who was mad.

She sat on the little bed and picked up one of the many books Myrnin had left lying open on the floor of the confinement.

_The Picture of Dorian Gray_ by Oscar Wilde. Claire opened it and found the pages all dog-eared. She flipped through the book and found a specific passage that had been underlined twice and circled.

'_No theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared to life itself_.'

Claire frowned softly and put the book down. She saw Chaucer's_ The Canterbury Tales_ lying somewhere near to where she'd set down Wilde. _To Kill a Mockingbird _was a few feet to her left. Myrnin may not have any sanity, but he did have taste.

But an old piece of paper a foot away that had Myrnin's thin handwriting on it caught Claire's eye. She took it in her hands, sat down on the bed, and read it.

_I have been experiencing lucidity for the past hour, so I supposed I should just record what I recall in case I forget later. The job Amelie wants me doing is useless to try and work on now; I'll either destroy it when I fall back into the arms of deliration or have a sudden burst of inspiration, return to insanity, and forget where I had been going. That always happens, and it's quite maddening. _

_Not too long ago (fifteen minutes, perhaps), I came back from a hunt and killed two children, a boy and a girl. I expect to feel the regret and shame in that decision in about half an hour. But for now, I am Myrnin the savage. The Myrnin who has no regard for life or sentimentality. _

_It displeases me to know this about myself, but I come to terms with it in times like these. It is only in my misery that I become filled to the brim with feelings I cannot handle. And it is only then, when I feel the lasting blow of emotions, that I am truly broken._

Claire stared at the bottom of the page for a long time before she realized it was the end as thoughts raced through her mind. How could one man feel so many things so intensely, with one right after another? How could he write about himself as if he were nothing but a test subject?

Myrnin was like a puzzle whose pieces were mismatched and from different sets. But if mashed together forcefully enough, would fit.

Someone cleared their throat and Claire looked up, realizing she was crying.

Myrnin was standing in the doorway looking lamentable. She dropped the paper, trying to be nonchalant about it, but she was sure he'd noticed. Claire got out of the cage and stood looking at him from a safe distance.

"I have taken the drugs, Claire, and I am well—for now. But I came to apologize for the way I have treated you today." He was unable to meet her eyes as he said he was sorry, which broke Claire's heart all over again.

Claire's watery eyes focused on the man who was made of material she'd not yet had the chance to come by. "You're strange," she said, "almost as if you accept the fact that you're dying every second you continue to exist, but there's always a part of you that resists that knowledge. Like a fight that takes place in your mind, but I don't understand it yet—not completely." She took in a deep breath. "What _are_ you?" she asked sadly, because she couldn't seem to put a single word on it herself.

Myrnin stared at the ground as a tear slid down his cheek. He was silent for a moment, and then he met her gaze. "I'm…" He paused, thinking of a word. "Complicated." He nodded, as if in agreement with himself. "Yes, that's what I am—I'm complicated."

And Claire knew that was it. That was the word she had been looking for.

_Complicated_.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. I hope you all leave reviews on your way out. Feel free to also subscribe, because I have a story idea I want to try out and then publish. -FP**


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